


falling with eyes wide shut

by lasciel



Series: Ladder to Heaven [2]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Barebacking, Blasphemy, Brainwashing, Demons, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Memory Alteration, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/pseuds/lasciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack leans closer still, until his breath gazes Rhys' cheek, humid and hot. “Let me help you with that, Rhysie.” Jack's hands grab his ass, and Rhys can't quite deny the squeak that escapes his mouth. Fingers slip underneath the last piece of clothing covering him, and he inhales shakily, hiding his face in the crook of Jack's neck, seeking a respite. </p><p>But of course Jack turns removing Rhys' last line of defence into a lingering caress, his fingernails trailing down Rhys' skin while he drags the shorts down Rhys' hips, almost making a ceremony out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling with eyes wide shut

**Author's Note:**

> Again, a heartfelt thank you to everyone for all your wonderful reactions to now flightless wings! This fic is set shortly after that one, and ~~entirely your fault~~ came only into existence thanks to your encouraging feedback. (Shout-out to [Twenty_One_Grams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Twenty_One_Grams/pseuds/Twenty_One_Grams), [radishezrom](http://radishezrom.tumblr.com/) and [renqa](http://knifetwisters.tumblr.com/) — you made sinning again that much sweeter.)
> 
> This story consists of three scenes told in reverse order, because... reasons...
> 
> Please take a close look at the tags. After a lot of consideration I've decided to tag this one with **Extremely Dubious Consent** , but that might not be enough. If you don't have to worry about triggers, and are already wondering what I'm being so secretive about, go on right ahead! If you do have triggers, and if I've already made you feel wary, please consider looking at the only slightly spoiler-y [addendum](http://ledgem.tumblr.com/post/126515150553/spoiler-y-addendum-to-falling-with-eyes-wide) on tumblr before going on.
> 
> Enjoy! ~~Please do, because I'm pretty sure I've successfully damned my immortal soul by writing this fic.~~
> 
>  **edit:** please, do yourself a favour and bask in the glory of [this](http://ledgem.tumblr.com/post/126888793098/radishezrom-based-of-f-of-the) wonderful piece drawn by the amazing [radishezrom](http://radishezrom.tumblr.com/) (nsfw, mild spoilers).
> 
> More mindblowing [art](http://piffbee2.tumblr.com/post/128094867042/for-ledgems-amazing-take-me-to-church-au) by the talented [piffbee](http://piffbee.tumblr.com/)!

Hands wander underneath his shirt and then up his sides, tickling slightly, and Rhys makes a quiet sound of protest. He shifts on the solid but uneven surface he's sitting on, hiding his face in the soft material it's resting against.

“Well, this isn't really how I thought we'd spent the time, but I've always been good at rolling with the punches.”

The familiar, even voice coaxes him further towards consciousness. Fingernails drag down his back, and Rhys wakes, a soft sigh falling from his mouth. He smacks his lips loudly, righting himself. Rhys blinks a few times, his eyes feeling weirdly puffy, until Jack's face becomes clear, so close all Rhys can see is the amused tilt of his mouth.

Rhys startles, almost falling off Jack's lap and the chair they are both seated on. The hands on his back tighten their hold on him, and Rhys fists his fingers into Jack's yellow dress shirt, feeling his heartbeat quicken and his cheeks flush.

Jack smiles even wider, one of his eyebrows raised. “Welcome back, pumpkin. For your sake, I really hope that you didn't drool on me.” The palms on Rhys' naked skin wander up again, rucking up his shirt even further. “I'd _hate_ to have to punish you.”

Rhys shivers at the touch, and the undertone in Jack's voice belying his words. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn't mean to fall asleep.” Looking outside through the high-reaching windows right behind the desk they are sitting at shows the sun still high up in the sky, bathing them in its bright light. He must have been really tired to fall asleep like this, though all he can remember is being excited about Jack inviting him to his rooms. Absently, he fumbles with the smooth material covering Jack's chest, trying to think past the distant feeling of cotton in his head. He entered together with Jack, and there were two of those shadows already waiting inside. Jack told him about his work and his important calling before ordering Rhys onto his lap, and then...

Rhys frowns, unable to recall anything past that point.

The nails trail down his skin, slow and bordering on something almost uncomfortable. Rhys squirms, looking back at Jack's thoughtful face. “There you go again, ignoring me. And here I thought we were finally going to have some fun together.”

If Rhys didn't know better, he'd say Jack is actually _pouting_. He shivers, warmth and excitement pooling low in his stomach just thinking about what Jack means with _fun_.

Shaking his head, Rhys lets go of the weird feeling of missing something, instead concentrating on Jack again. He curls his palm daringly around the tempting stretch of skin where shoulder meets throat, whispers, “I'm here now, it won't happen again.” He swallows, searching for courage and finding a hesitant smile. “I'm yours.”

Jack chuckles, grinning widely, a spark in his eyes. “Well, if those aren't the magic words.” His face comes closer then, and Rhys holds his breath in anticipation, his pulse fluttering.

“I guess I should take it as a compliment that you trust me enough to fall asleep like this,” Jack says quietly, his smile showing teeth.

Rhys forces his gaze away from the inviting mouth. 

Jack is looking at him so intently, Rhys almost feels as if he's looking into his very soul. “You do trust me, don't you, Rhysie?” he asks, voice low, and almost a caress.

Rhys nods, almost without hesitation, hoping Jack won't notice the shiver rushing through him. “You've been very good to me.” And he means it. Without Jack... he doesn't even want to imagine where he would be. Lacking an eye, an arm, and his faith. 

Nothing more than an empty shell with cracks running through it.

“Damn right,” Jack says suddenly, forceful enough to make Rhys flinch, even without the expletive.

With the help of Jack's surprisingly gentle hands he stands up, his legs curiously shaky, probably from being curled up in Jack's lap for so long. Jack raises as well, taking Rhys' wrist with a surety that borders on arrogance, leading the both of them towards Jack's imposing bed.

Rhys can feel his face heat up, relieved that Jack's attention is not on him.

“We both deserve some fun after such a stressful week,” Jack says casually, outburst already forgotten as they come to a stand in front of the bed. He turns then, his lips curled into a smirk. “Well, me more than you, but that's a given, considering I'll soon run this worthless enterprise.”

Rhys ignores the uneasy feeling in his chest, Jack's lack of respect for this holy institution still jarring to hear. He focuses on something else instead. “So... things are going really well for you?” That's good, right? Jack isn't afraid to get his hands dirty, to become involved. 

He doesn't let evil go unpunished.

Jack turns back around towards Rhys, letting himself fall backwards onto the bed. He hums, propping himself up on his elbows. “Told you: There's nothing I can't do.” He trails his eyes slowly down Rhys' body, taking his time, obviously enjoying how it makes Rhys squirm. “But enough talk about work. I really think it's high-time you lose some clothes.” Jack frowns, head tilted to the side. “Starting with that atrocious shirt. Seriously, whoever thought you should be allowed to dress yourself should be taken out and shot right in the face.”

Rhys curls his fingers into his shirt, miffed. It's his favourite after all, comfortable and with blue and white stripes on it.

“Less pouting, more undressing,” Jack sing-songs.

Fine.

And Rhys wasn't pouting.

Grumbling under his breath, Rhys tackles the still arduous task of unbuttoning. Jack doesn't do or say anything, and the silent observation soon has Rhys' fingers trembling with nervous excitement. What if Rhys takes too long, making Jack lose his limited patience? What if Rhys is presenting such a miserable picture right now that Jack ends up pitying him, not wanting him anymore?

Alright, even inside of Rhys' own head Jack and pity doesn't really seem to fit, but still... Why does Jack have to be so unnervingly _quiet_?

The last button finally becomes undone, and Rhys awkwardly slips the material from his shoulders, already feeling almost unbearably naked.

“Did you do as I asked and cleaned yourself?” Jack asks lazily, still sprawled on the bed, and obviously completely relaxed.

Rhys feels even more blood rush to his face, remembering Jack's whispered, filthy instructions from the day before. 

He nods jerkily, and Jack makes an appreciative sound. “Good boy,” he all but purrs, and Rhys' fingers curl into the material of the shirt still clutched in his hand. Jack's words seem to travel from his ears straight past his stomach, pooling heavy and hot below it.

“Must have been a sight: Bent over in your bath, trying to figure out the logistics. Knowing you, you probably first spent absurdly long scrubbing your skin before biting your lip, and finally fingering yourself for me.”

Rhys quickly looks to the side, trying to hide his widening eyes and the helpless flush he can feel spreading down his throat.

“Right on the money, aren't I?” When Rhys remains silent, honestly contemplating hiding his face in his shirt and maybe smothering himself with it, Jack groans loudly. “Man, I wish I could have been there and seen that for myself.”

Rhys bites his tongue, keeping in the cheeky reply that is weighting it down heavily. _So do I._ He squirms, wondering why on earth he thought that this would be easier with Jack _speaking_ to him.

A low chuckle. “Do go on.”

Rhys inhales deeply, reluctantly letting the shirt fall from his grasp. He moves his trembling arm towards his trousers, slipping his thumb between them and his shorts. He knows that even a small push will be enough to make them slide down his hips — that's why he chose to wear them after all, but...

He hesitates, risking a glance up at Jack.

There's a small, deeply pleased smile on his lips, and a very obvious bulge in his pants, one of his hands massaging it—

Rhys swallows, quickly looking back to the floor. The trousers slip from his hips almost accidentally.

Jack groans again, this time definitely dismayed. “Really, pumpkin?”

Biting his lower lip, Rhys hesitantly looks up again before following Jack's gaze to his blue and yellow striped shorts. He frowns, confused. Did Jack expect him to go... commando?

“Please, just get rid of... that,” Jack says, sounding exasperated, waving his free hand at Rhys' middle.

Jack really has a weird fashion sense, Rhys decides mulishly, stepping out of his trouser legs. He bows then, deciding to deal with his socks — matching his shorts — first, glad he already lost his shoes by the desk. It's a shaky affair, but Rhys is relieved when he manages to get rid of them without falling on his ass.

Rhys hesitates again, his skin feeling too tight, too hot. Apart from the bandages still wrapped around his right shoulder, his shorts are the only protective barrier left between him and Jack's gaze, and even if he only has a vague notion about what he's getting into right now, about what he has given his consent to... 

He was sure this would be easier, considering Jack already saw him naked once. Though the memory of... of their first time together is mostly blurry, flashes of words and intense sensation, it's undeniable that Jack gave him levels of bliss that Rhys' toes curl just thinking about it. He wants for Jack to show him more, to show him what else he has been missing. So why is he being so frustratingly skittish?

Jack stands up then, giving off the impression of a predator preparing to attack, his movements slow but calculated. “Guess it's only fair to show you what _you_ are getting out of this, right, sweetheart?”

Rhys has to force himself to stand very still when Jack takes one step towards him, right into his personal space, a concept Jack never allowed to exist between them in the first place. On the smooth wooden floor Rhys' naked feet look ridiculously frail compared to Jack's dark boots, so close, they are almost touching.

Jack's arms move in his peripheral vision, and it really takes Rhys an embarrassing long moment to understand that Jack is undressing himself. It's enough to make the blood rush in his ears, how every shift of Jack's body makes them touch: The brush of an arm across Rhys' chest, fabric grazing his side right after. Curiosity soon overpowers his frail nerves, and he raises his eyes slowly, taking in Jack's bared chest.

Thankfully, the sharp inhale becomes stuck in his throat. 

For some reason, he hadn't expected Jack to have so many scars. Cuts, some shallow, some deep enough to make Rhys' own skin sting in sympathy. Indentation that might be bullet wounds, though Rhys never had to see one before in his life. But most leave him stumped about what weapons could have caused them, and Rhys' fingers _itch_ with the need to reach out, to touch, to try to soothe, however ridiculous the notion. He tries and fails to ignore the neat line of dark, fine hairs leading down below Jack's navel.

Jack's right hand lands heavily on his shoulder, and Rhys almost manages not to jump at the sudden contact. “You don't mind, do you,” Jack mutters. He's obviously not interested in an answer to that, already using Rhys to support himself while he undoes first the one, and then the other shoelace. 

Rhys is looking at a curiously misshapen scar on Jack's throat when Jack rightens himself again, and suddenly it occurs to Rhys that they are pretty much of the same height. It's an inconceivable thought, and Rhys can't stop himself from hunching into himself slightly, unable to comprehend that Jack, with his magnitude of charisma, his undeniable presence, isn't towering above him.

Jack's hands move down towards his trousers, and Rhys swallows heavily, quickly looking up at Jack's face once more, deeming it the safer option. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Jack's entire focus is on him, and now that Rhys has met his eyes, he's trapped, unable to avert his gaze again.

The sound of Jack's belt being opened, and the muffled clank of it hitting the floor along with the last pieces of Jack's clothing is almost obscene in the silence of the room, and Rhys wonders how he can even hear it over the unnaturally loud beating of his heart. He doesn't look down Jack's naked body, even though he wants to, even though not doing so makes him tremble.

Jack leans closer still, until his breath gazes Rhys' cheek, humid and hot. “Let me help you with that, Rhysie.” Jack's hands grab his ass, and Rhys can't quite deny the squeak that escapes his mouth. Fingers slip underneath the last piece of clothing covering him, and he inhales shakily, hiding his face in the crook of Jack's neck, seeking a respite. 

But of course Jack turns removing Rhys' last line of defence into a lingering caress, his fingernails trailing down Rhys' skin while he drags the shorts down Rhys' hips, almost making a ceremony out of it. 

The shorts take almost impossibly long to slide down Rhys' legs, and he shivers. 

Jack pats his thigh, urging him to kick the piece of clothing out of the way. “See, that wasn't so difficult.” His voice is low, sounding almost _kind_ , and Rhys can feel the nervous/excited tremble take a hold of him once more, returning with a vengeance. One of Jack's hands trails up his side and over his chest before curling around Rhys' throat, forcing his head away from his hiding place with unrelenting pressure.

Rhys makes a quiet sound, somewhere between a protest and a sigh. He keeps his eyes shut for a moment longer, trying to brace himself before he takes the next step closer towards the cliff's edge he's standing at. 

When Rhys finally opens his eyes and meets Jack's gaze again, the corners of Jack's mouth curl upwards into a teasing grin. “I really think we should take this somewhere more comfortable now.” This time he actually waits for Rhys to nod hesitantly before gripping Rhys' neck, and leading them both around to the left side of the large bed. “You know, you've given me a lot of time to think about how exactly I want to take you.” He sends Rhys an almost reproachful look. “Seriously. _A lot_ of time.”

Rhys' eyes flicker from the dark, red bedding to Jack's raised eyebrow, trying hard not to squirm. Should he... should he apologise for ignoring and rejecting Jack's advances for so long? Sometimes, Jack seemed to almost relish in making him squirm, leaving Rhys always vaguely aroused and loathing himself for his body's reaction to Jack's teasing. It felt like it was all an entertaining game to Jack, a _hunt_ , at least until.. until shortly before Henderson attacked Rhys.

The low-burning arousal in Rhys' stomach cools slightly. He really doesn't want to think about Henderson right now.

Thankfully, Jack is all too happy to bring them back on track, saying easily, “No hard feelings, of course.” He sits down on the bed, his palms rough and insistent on Rhys' hips, urging him to follow Jack down and into a crouch above him. 

One of the hands leaves Rhys' skin, and Jack uses it to shift them backwards and then to the side until Jack's back is against a pillow and the ornate headboard, Rhys shuffled along by the palm still pressed to his hip.

Rhys reaches his arm out to the headboard automatically to support himself, gaze now almost desperately fixated on Jack's ever-growing grin, unable to look him the eyes, not even able to consider looking down to take Jack in fully.

Jack tilts his head to his right, making Rhys look at the bedside table there. “Be a good boy and get the tube.” 

Rhys might be inexperienced, but he's heard enough hushed conservations to know what they'll need it for, and he can practically feel himself turn a bright scarlet. But at least he won't have to look at their naked bodies, and so, grateful for the distraction Rhys leans over, only to stop abruptly, realising that he'll have to let go of the headboard to take it.

The fingers on his skin dig in a bit, pointedly reminding Rhys of their presence. Rhys inhales deeply, letting go of his only support and slowly leaning sidewards, trusting Jack to keep him from losing his balance and falling off the bed. He stretches his right leg out to get enough leverage, his heart beating wildly in his chest. When his fingers curl around the small container he makes a quiet sound of satisfaction, only for it to turn into a startled squeak when Jack suddenly tips him back with only the strength of the hand he has on Rhys' left side, pressing in hard enough to leave bruises. 

Rhys leans awkwardly onto his closed fist, hoping he won't accidentally make the tube in his hold burst, and he looks back at Jack, expecting an explanation.

But Jacks eyes are on Rhys' right leg, still stretched out next to them. Jack's free hand trails over it appreciatively, making Rhys shiver. “You really do have one pair of amazing legs on you, cupcake. It's a damn shame they are always covered up.” He flashes Rhys a foreboding grin. “I'll have to look into fixing that soon.”

He manages to smile despite the nervous flutter in his stomach, still unable to ascribe any other word but 'gangly' to his own limbs, yet feeling himself practically glow at the praise. He leaves the inconspicuous looking container lying next to them, almost hoping that Jack will forget about it. He shifts awkwardly, until he's more or less raised above Jack again, still keeping their points of contact at a minimum, eyes somewhere above Jack's shoulder.

Jack chuckles, quiet and rough, and then both of his palms are back on Rhys' thighs, pressing down until Rhys relents, letting his legs slide to the side. Once firmly sat in Jack's lap he gasps, the sound embarrassingly loud in the room, and like this it is impossible to ignore any longer that they are both naked. Jack's skin is so warm against his or maybe Rhys is the one running hot, because it certainly feels like he's boiling alive right now.

“Now _this_ is what I'm talking about,” Jack purrs. One of his hands trails lazily between them, leaving goosebumps on Rhys' skin in its wake. 

Rhys' mouth falls open and his eyes widen when Jack's knuckles carelessly graze his cock, and he stares down in breathless disbelief, watching Jack playfully arrange their cocks to lie against each other.

It's— it's a weird feeling, and a much weirder picture, but now that Rhys has finally looked he can't look away again. His mouth is still halfway open as he sucks in a sharp breath, not even caring about it or about Jack's gaze, undeniably on his face, avidly watching his every reaction.

They are both aroused, their cocks filling already — Rhys' more so than Jack's, despite his nervousness. He almost wants to reach out and touch Jack's, thinking that maybe that would make him slightly less afraid of allowing it into his body, but... it probably won't become too much bigger, right?

He can't suppress the full-body shiver rushing through him, and Jack leans forward instantly, reproachfully biting at Rhys' chin, startling a choked laugh out of him.

“No reason for you to be getting performance anxiety now,” Jack says quietly, one corner of his mouth curled upwards and his eyes gleaming with familiar smugness, “you're doing great, kiddo.” 

The fingers on his hips draw soothing circles on his skin, and Rhys feels himself relax slightly. Jack's right hand moves away, searching the bedding next to them for the lubricant and Rhys tenses again immediately.

The other palm pats him again. “Just let me do all the heavy lifting, and don't worry about a thing.”

Rhys tears his gaze away from the tube Jack's now holding loosely between two finger, and looks back at Jack's face.

Jack's grin shows teeth at the edges. “I know what I'm doing.” He opens the container with one deft flick of his fingers, squirting some of its contents onto his hand without ever looking away from Rhys before letting it fall back onto the bedding.

“Well, one of us should,” Rhys forces out between his teeth, biting his bottom lip even before the last word has fully left his mouth. His heartbeat speeds up even further, and he hunches his shoulders, hoping that Jack will understand that Rhys didn't mean it, he's just feeling so _nervous_ —

One of Jack's eyebrows arches up, and then Jack laughs, short and loud, his expression gleeful. “And here I thought this place had successfully neutered any sense of humour you ever had!”

Rhys grins hesitantly, deciding to take that as a compliment. He was growing rather tired of censoring everything he said, but Henderson and the other fathers always insisted on proper decorum. He should tell Vaughn that he's not the only one who wants Rhys to loosen up a bit—

And then Jack's right hand reaches behind Rhys, and Rhys doesn't think about Vaughn or any unfortunately timed thoughts about loosening up anymore.

Wet, cool fingers meet the skin at his tailbone, and Rhys' hastily grips Jack's upper arm, trembling and of half a mind to stop Jack.

Jack tilts his head to the side, considering him. He trails his other hand slowly up Rhys' right side, not stopping once it reaches the bandages wrapped around his shoulder, moving right over the stump without pause before curling around Rhys' neck. Pressure there and from behind him, Jack's thighs pressing against his back, forcing him closer towards Jack.

Rhys' fingers are probably leaving bruises on Jack's skin, but Rhys can't make himself ease up on his hold, his breathing too quick and too shallow.

“Let me make you feel good,” Jack whispers imploringly against Rhys' open mouth, eyelashes lowered slightly and eyes seeming to glow, “Let me take you to heights you can't even begin to imagine yet.”

Rhys inhales deeply — long enough for it to ache — before leaning forward and crushing his lips against Jack's, desperate for the contact and for Jack himself. It's uncoordinated and rough, barely even a kiss. It's perfect.

Jack growls, biting at his mouth for one dizzying, exhilarating moment, and then licking over the stinging flesh with a long, wet swipe of his tongue. “Knew you had a spark burning in you just waiting to be coaxed into a wildfire, kiddo.”

Rhys whimpers, moving his hand up to clutch at Jack's shoulder, already thinking about leaning in closer for _more_.

The finger slips into him without warning and Rhys shouts, trying to arch away from the intrusion but unable to escape it. He stares at Jack's amused expression with wild eyes, groaning loudly when the finger begins to move inside of him, too thick and uncomfortable.

Humming, Jack tilts Rhys' head up, latching his mouth onto Rhys' exposed throat and sucking at the stretched skin with almost vicious abandon.

Rhys whines, high and feeble, his voice cracking when a second finger teases at his opening, and he manages to croak, “Please.” 

Jack hums again, not even pausing before slipping another finger into Rhys' trembling body.

Rhys' can feel himself soften, too aware of the almost painful stretch to focus on anything else. “Jack,” he tries instead, sounding small and weak, digging his nails into Jack's shoulder.

Jack separates his mouth from Rhys' throat, leaving the skin smarting sharply. He lets Rhys move his head freely again, finally meeting Rhys' pleading gaze. “Guess I got a bit carried away there, but I really wanted to do that for a while now,” Jack says, grinning almost sheepishly.

The fingers leave his body with an obscene sound that makes Rhys' ears burn, but he sighs once they are gone, his tense muscles relaxing almost instantly.

Clucking his tongue at Rhys, Jack moves his hand back towards the lubricant. “Oh no, cupcake. You aren't even close to ready to take my cock yet.”

Rhys groans when Jack adds gel onto his fingers again, feeling dismayed and anxious at the prospect of even more of that uncomfortable stretch inside of him. He chances a quick glance down at Jack's cock, now flushed dark and definitely bigger than before. Whining, he closes his eyes, hating how his breathing speeds up again.

“Don't worry, Rhysie, you're _really_ going to like this,” Jack says easily, and Rhys frowns, by now seriously doubting Jack's words.

He can't help but flinch when the dripping fingers slip into him again without preamble, though it does seem slightly easier than before. Rhys resigns himself to enduring the discomfort for Jack's sake, hoping that maybe after— after Jack is finished he'll make Rhys come again with his talented hands. He tries to move his head forwards, wanting to rest it on Jack's shoulder until he's deemed prepared enough. But the fingers on his neck tighten their hold and Rhys makes a soft, questioning sound in the back of his throat, meeting Jack's eyes again.

Jack's lips, bruised and darker than usual, curl into a slow smile. “No hiding for you now. I want to see your face.”

Rhys grits his teeth, the fingers inside of him now moving not only in and out continuously but also wriggling in deeper, hard to endure and impossible to ignore. He opens his mouth, ready to give Jack a piece of his mind—

The fingers _curl_ and Rhys' mouth falls open with a gasp, something like an electric shock washing through him, leaving him staring at Jack with wide eyes.

Chuckling quietly Jack repeats the movement, dragging a moan out of Rhys, long and shameful in the silence of the room. “Very nice, sweetheart,” Jack murmurs approvingly. “Do that again for me, would you?” He curls his fingers once more, and if Rhys was still capable of a coherent thought he'd deny Jack's request on principle for making him wait so long for this.

But with that intense pleasure overwhelming him all he can do is writhe helplessly on Jack's lap, his cock filling and curving, his breaths turning into uneven pants for air.

“Look at you,” Jack purrs, his warm breath ghosting over Rhys' lips.

Rhys forces his eyes to flutter open again, unable to remember closing them in the first place.

In the encroaching darkness of the room Jack's mismatched gaze is almost glowing, his smile now mostly teeth, a hint of red on his cheeks. “Aren't you just the prettiest little thing.” His fingers send another wave of heat racing through Rhys' body, and Jack teases at his opening with the nail of a third one, forcing another moan from deep within his chest.

Jack leans forward and takes Rhys' bottom lip between his teeth, pulling playfully at it until Rhys whines, squirming. Letting go of the abused flesh, Jack mutters, “Knew _desperate_ would suit you.”

Rhys doesn't know if Jack is still talking to him or if he's supposed to pay attention to Jack's words, because all he can focus on is the pressure building inside of him, making him tremble and his cock leak messily onto himself. He manages to gasp out Jack's name on his next inhale, sounding feverish even to his own ears.

The fingers pull out of him accompanied by Jack's breathless growl, and Rhys whines, pushing his ass back even though there's nothing there anymore.

Jack grips his chin again, guiding it down, and Rhys leans into him eagerly, all too happy to let Jack devour him with open mouthed bites and kisses until Rhys' lips are tingling almost painfully.

“You're ready,” Jack growls before suddenly tipping Rhys off his lap and over onto his front.

Rhys sucks in air sharply, awkwardly landing onto his empty side. There's only a dull complaint from the stump, a far cry from the pain it used to cause him not so long ago. He shifts his arm upwards, but before he can raise himself up a hand curls into his hair, pressing his head into the bedding. Jack's other hand grips his hip roughly, urging Rhys onto his knees. He stays like that, waiting, ass prone and cock hanging in the air. He stares to the side, absently wondering when it got late enough to justify candlelight, and who lit them in the first place.

Jack grunts, annoyed, leaning to the side to snatch up the lubrication once more, his movements hurried and impatient.

A loud, grotesque noise is forced out of the tube, then a wet slapping sound closely followed by Jack hissing appreciatively.

A palm drags down over his opening, leaving dripping dampness behind and Rhys groans, his fingers clawing into the bedding and his cock leaking messily onto it.

One of Jack's palms curls around Rhys' right shoulder, and his voice is gratifyingly uneven, his speech unrefined when he says, “Better hold on fast, Rhysie, 'cause here I come.”

It's more of a warning than Rhys expected, but once Jack actually begins to guide himself into him, the unrelenting pressure of Jack's cock quickly makes him forget about any foolish notions of gratefulness. He whines, trying to escape the uncomfortable stretch bordering on pain.

The fingers at his shoulder dig in slightly, holding him steady and immobile, and Rhys is unable to do anything but _take_ what Jack gives him, desperately trying to relax, to just let Jack finally have him.

But it's too much, and Rhys tenses, crying out when the discomfort turns into a sharp sting—

Jack actually stops pushing into him, and he curls his body over Rhys' back, breathing heavily over the sweaty hairs at the nape of Rhys' neck. “Fuck, you are so tight.” Jack groans, his hips stuttering forward, and making Rhys gasp. “So tight, and so fucking good,” he bites out before sinking his teeth into Rhys' shoulder.

Rhys shouts, arching his back against Jack's chest, his cock dripping steadily despite the lingering pain inside of him.

“Going to keep you chained to the bed, pumpkin,” Jack tells him mindlessly, his left hand wandering underneath Rhys, palm fitting itself possessively over his cock and balls. “Far too many dangers out there to let you wander around freely.”

A sob tears out of his throat, and Rhys doesn't know up from down any longer, he's torn, wanting to push back on the slowly changing stretch, wanting to push forward into the rough hand.

Thankfully, Jack takes that decision away from Rhys quickly, palm moving away after a lingering squeeze that leaves him panting open mouthed into the sheets. The hand settles onto his hip once more, and then Jack asks, “You going to let me in now, kiddo?” He licks over Rhys' neck, and all Rhys can do is nod weakly, far beyond speech at this point.

For the span of a heartbeat Jack presses his lips onto the skin between Rhys' shoulder blades before righting himself again, his comforting weight lifting off Rhys' back.

“Worth every endless, frustrating, fucking minute,” Jack crows, and then his hips press forward, his cock sliding in deeper, and deeper still until Rhys thinks he can't possible take more of it.

Skin slaps against his ass, and Jack hisses out sharply between his teeth, fingers digging into Rhys' skin and undoubtedly leaving even more marks on him.

Jack withdraws, pulling out until only the tip of his cock is still holding Rhys open.

Rhys holds his breath in anticipation, only to lose it promptly in a choked howl when Jack's hips snap forward again with enough force to move both of them closer towards the headboard. Jack continues his merciless thrusts, and the room quickly fills with Jack's grunts, Rhys' moans, and the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Eyes closed under the onslaught, Rhys shivers when Jack grunts loudly, and hearing the sound makes his toes curl into the bedding. Jack's cock sends pleasure racing through him in irregular intervals, pushing him ruthlessly towards the edge but never over it, and Rhys cants his ass, silently pleading for _more_. Despite the unimaginable amount of impressions attacking him, Rhys still notices the weird shadows flickering across his vision, and he blinks his eyes open dazedly, thinking for one heart-stopping second he's descended into the fiery depths of hell.

The room is tinted a frightening shade of red, but even half mad with pleasure Rhys realises quickly that it's only the setting sun. But the weirdly shaped, dark shadows keep flickering at the edge of his vision, and Rhys stretches his arm out towards the wooden headboard, shaking violently with every snap of Jack's hips. He shifts his weight partly to his chest, somewhere finding the energy to lift his head, looking ahead.

He freezes at the sight. Two massive shadows span outwards on the sides of the bed, originating from where Jack must be looming behind him. They are distinctly shaped like wings, and he makes a quiet sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and Jack slows down until he's moving at an almost leisurely pace.

“Wondered when you'd notice.” He laughs throatily, bending over Rhys' back again, his mouth at Rhys' ear. “Do you think you are worthy enough to see the real me?” His hips snap forward sharply, sending another intense wave of heat through Rhys, drawing a helpless whine out of his mouth. 

Rhys barely even comprehends the meaning of Jack's words, all he can focus on is Jack inside of him, filling him completely and his own cock, heavy and dripping. “Please,” he croaks, drawn out and mindlessly, not even knowing what he's asking for but craving whatever else Jack can give him.

Jack bites Rhys' earlobe, chuckling darkly. One of his hands trails to Rhys' groin again, and Rhys gasps out Jack's name in another desperate plea. 

The rough palm closes around his cock, and Rhys can feel himself tipping over the edge, agonisingly slow, leaving his mouth gaping, drooling openly over his chin. The barest hint of a squeeze, and Jack presses deeper into him, growling into his ear, “Come for me.”

Rhys' arches into a bow of flesh and pleasure, almost choking on the hoarse scream wrenched out of him and painting the bedding with his release. It doesn't feel like falling anymore — he has already hit the unyielding bottom, cracked into tingling pieces after the impact, his mind a blessed nothingness.

Jack pulls out of him abruptly, leaving him empty and gaping, without enough air in his lungs to even whine at the loss. Hands flip him over, sudden enough to make him even dizzier, barely able to feel the wetness he's now lying on. Harsh fingers grip his upper legs, parting them wide enough so that Jack can slip between them again. “Did I break you already or are you still in there, Rhysie?”

The rough, breathless voice compels Rhys to slowly force his eyelids up again, denying the tide of restful unconsciousness trying to pull him under. 

Rhys' next inhale becomes struck in his throat.

Behind them the sun is setting, sending its waning, yellow-red light through the tall windows. It's the perfect, ominous backdrop for Jack's appearance. Rhys did not see ghosts — there really are wings sprouting from Jack's back, imposing yet soft looking, and so black they seem to almost swallow any light that reaches them. Horns protrude from Jack's forehead, dark and twisted, their tips as sharp looking as the business end of a dagger.

The scar marking Jack's face — usually so familiar to Rhys — is streaked with blue, winding lines, almost seeming alive. The wide grin on Jack's mouth shows white, pointed teeth at the edges, and his left eye is not green any longer but a glowing, deep red.

He is frightening, terrible, and everything the church always warned Rhys about.

Rhys draws a sharp breath into his protesting lungs, fingers curling into the bedding, and his spent cock twitches.

Jack chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “I'm flattered.” He moves Rhys' legs to rest on his shoulders before leaning forward, and Rhys gasps at the sensation of being so effortlessly bent into half. Jack rubs his cock against Rhys' aching opening, his voice a deep, pleased rumble. “You are a sight for sore eyes yourself, kiddo.” He guides himself back into Rhys' body, and like this it's even more intense, more _intimate_.

If he could, Rhys would close his eyes or turn his head away, but with Jack's demonic gaze focused on him, their faces so close and Jack's spread wings filling the rest of his vision, all he can do is pant and accept the thick, slow slide of Jack's cock into him again.

Pleasure races through him once more, too much for his still sensitive body, leaving him twitching and whimpering in tandem with Jack's thrusts, now reaching even deeper than before. 

“Listen to you,” Jack hisses, ruthlessly snapping his hips forward and making Rhys moan brokenly. “Fucking _made_ to take my cock.”

Rhys' cock is trying to fill again, curved slightly on his heaving stomach, almost paining him. “Jack,” he manages to gasp out, curling his trembling hand around Jack's sweaty shoulder, staring at him with mindless awe. 

Fingernails dig into the skin of his thighs, and Jack smashes his mouth onto Rhys', finally stilling and spending himself inside of Rhys with an almost startled noise.

Rhys groans at the weird sensation, and Jack uses the opportunity to lick into his mouth, tongue large and insistent. It's wet, messy, and wonderful, leaving Rhys' lips bruised just like the rest of him.

Jack looks at him for a moment with wild, still glowing eyes, his face flushed and his hair dishevelled. He lets Rhys' legs slip from his shoulder before pulling out of him, and Rhys swallows the pitiful noise that wants to escape his throat. Jack rotates his head from one side to the other, red mouth parted in concentration, and the black wings vanish with a sound like rustling leaves. The dangerous looking horns shrink into themselves until they disappear completely, gone without leaving a visible mark on Jack's forehead. With closed eyes, Jack lets himself onto the bed, sighting loudly and satisfied.

Rhys lies there, his breath slowly calming and his body tingling, staring at Jack's spread out form next to him. He's unable to stop his eyes from trailing over Jack's legs or from lingering on Jack's ass, feeling his own twinge and leak. He makes a face, blushing furiously. Then a hand slaps against his side, startling him. 

Jack's eyes are still shut, and he gropes around with his hand for a bit before finding and patting Rhys' hip, uncoordinated and almost adorable.

Smiling, Rhys places his own hand on Jack's, keeping it pressed to his skin.

“Told you we'd be amazing together,” Jack mumbles distractedly, apparently intending for them to rest for a while now.

Rhys actually doesn't remember Jack saying that, and he shifts closer to Jack, trying to get away form the wet spot he was lying in. Then again, considering what just happened between them that's not really surprising, is it? It's a wonder he can even still think at all. Rhys shuts his eyes as well, finally giving in to well-deserved sleep.

* * *

Rhys is standing in a corridor of the monastery he's never been to before, dimly lit and desolate, waiting in front of the door leading into Jack's rooms. Jack told him he might be late, but despite that Rhys couldn't stop himself from knocking on the door twice already, impatient and somehow hoping Jack was inside already.

It's probably been only a couple of minutes, but still Rhys fidgets, hand fisted into his shirt. He's wearing his favourite blue and white striped one, left sleeve tucked up by the hairpin Yvette gave him, and simple, dark grey trousers. Jack's instructions — Rhys feels himself flush just thinking about them — didn't include anything about dressing nicely, but Rhys is pretty sure that's a thing you do when you meet someone in... in private.

He's just glad Vaughn didn't think anything weird of it when Rhys ended up being a nervous mess before his meeting with 'Father John'.

Rhys scowls, doing his best to ignore the small, dark shapes he can just make out of the corner of his left eye. The shadows are apparently everywhere in the cathedral, even in this remote corner of it, moving through the wan light falling in through the tall windows, and through candle-light alike. One slips out of a crack in the wall only a few steps away from him, and Rhys jumps slightly. He ends up looking at it for too long, getting a cloying sensation of _hate_ from it, so intense it makes him feel sick.

Closing his eyes he breathes in shakily, knowing that if he looks at it for much longer he'll hear— Rhys shudders, curling his arm around his middle. He actually doesn't know yet what he picks up from these things. Only impressions at first of strong, negative emotions. Then sentences, not as if someone is whispering into his ear, but a voice in his mind, with no way to ignore it, no way to _forget_.

He doesn't even want to consider what would happen if he studied them for longer or think about what he already heard, thoughts that must have come from people living in the monastery or the towns and villages close by.

People he probably _knows_.

He should have let Vaughn stay and wait with him for a little while longer, then he wouldn't be alone now with that awful feeling taking a hold of him 

Purposeful steps echo in the otherwise deserted hall, and Rhys perks up instantly, fighting against the instinct to move and meet Jack halfway. Now that they'll finally be alone and able to talk in private again, he should definitely ask Jack about the shadow-beings, and about what it is exactly Rhys can sense with the eye Jack gave him.

Jack — still wearing the face of Father John — rounds the corner, expression grim and radiating tense energy, and Rhys wonders if maybe he should just leave while that is still an option. But Jack sees him in the very next second, and the angry lines on his face ease slightly, his strides becoming more measured.

Rhys meets his eyes for a heartbeat only to quickly look away again. Jack's piercing stare is unnerving enough on it's own, but seeing it without the scar is strange, _unsettling_ in a way Rhys can't even really describe. He stares at the clerical collar around Jack's throat instead, feeling unease begin to overpower the excitement in his stomach.

Rhys is probably only fooling himself when he thinks that they are going to talk, because he's here— he's here to have sex with Jack. He knows that, of course. It would be difficult not to, after he sat in his bath, wet and shivering, almost flooding half of it following Jack's instructions on how to clean himself for the act itself. 

Jack comes to a stop next to him, looking him up and down and Rhys swallows, feeling his face burn, wondering if his last thoughts are written clearly on his face.

“At least I can count on you, pumpkin,” Jack says quietly, nodding to himself. Then he turns to open the door with an intricate looking key. Pushing the door open he gestures for Rhys to enter, and Rhys does so before he can do anything so stupid as second-guess himself or even hesitate.

He has never been in quarters this wide and opulent before. There's a desk on the left, facing the middle of the large room and away from the windows spanning the wall behind it. Rhys almost takes a step towards it, curious about the view from it, but instead his eyes fall on the massive bed to the right, made out of dark wood and with red bedding on it.

The flush creeps up on his cheeks again, and he turns his attention to a side door, probably leading to an equally impressive bathroom, then to the bookshelves lining the walls. There are various knick knacks placed between all those books, and curiosity makes Rhys' fingers practically itch. He always thought high-end technology was forbidden in the monastery, but there's a large computer system tucked into one corner, much more advanced than the one Vaughn works with.

In the next second Jack slams the door shut behind them, further accentuating his angry words and making Rhys jump slightly. “Sometimes the sheer amount of incompetence I'm surrounded with daily honestly makes me wonder how this place is even still standing. Can't wait for them to finally make me a Bishop,” Jack grumbles, then adds, snapping with his fingers, “Or maybe they'll finally see reason, skip a few steps and make me a Cardinal right away.”

Rhys nods, staring at an open strongbox close by, at the very familiar looking golden-black dagger inside of it. “They should,” he says softly, hand almost wandering up to touch his left eye. Not for the first time he wonders about the true extent of the powers Jack wields, about the things he can do.

Jack is silent, despite obviously having worked himself up for a long rant only moments before. Rhys stops gawking at the weapon that Jack used on himself to give him the new eye, turning around to face the man himself. He blinks, taken aback by the sight.

Somewhere between entering his quarters and closing the door Jack must have dropped the appearance of 'Father John'. He's now wearing dark grey trousers, and a yellow dress shirt, cut low and revealing enough of Jack's chest to make Rhys swallow. The scar is back on his face, and he is considering Rhys closely, head tilted to the side, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Rhys drops his gaze to the floor, trying hard not to squirm, wondering if he did something wrong or if Jack simply changed his mind and is now going to send him away.

Jack moves closer to him, close enough so that Rhys' eyes end up fixated on Jack's chest again, fascinated by the fine, dark hairs on it. Fingers grip his chin then, tilting it up, and Jack is still _looking_ at him, making him blush furiously.

A slow, wide smile spreads over Jack's mouth. “You know,” he says quietly, his thumb slipping up and onto Rhys' lips, pressing the bottom one down lightly. “I could really get used to this.”

Heart racing, Rhys' considers opening his mouth, just letting Jack's thumb slide in—

A creaking sound from the right, startling Rhys badly enough so that the hand lets go of his chin again.

“Really? Now?” Jack complains, gesticulating wildly and already walking towards the desk.

Rhys curls his arm around his stomach, still feeling twitchy, and slowly moves closer as well. Now that he's actually looking, there are two distinct shadows on it, more solid looking than the one he usually sees haunting around.

Jack stops in front of the desk. He puts his hands on his hips, staring up at the ceiling, and sounding world weary when he says, “I'm definitely not getting paid enough for this shit.” 

Cautiously remaining half a step behind Jack, Rhys looks at the black things again, feeling safer with Jack at his side. Two pairs of red eyes stare back at him, apparently studying him just as much as he's studying them, and Rhys decides that he's seen enough.

Jack's shoes are much more interesting anyway.

“So, what do you have for me? And it better be good, because otherwise you are both going to end up as black smears on the windows.”

Rhys shivers, relieved that he can't see Jack's expression right now. The relief is short-lived when his ears pick up noises in the next moment, a dull, _wafting_ sequence of sounds. He stares at the back of Jack's head, goosebumps raising up on his skin.

Jack's nodding along, thoughtfully tapping his chin.

Long, awful minutes pass, and Rhys knows that he would be able to hear what the shadows have to report to Jack if he was only brave enough to look at them again. It's probably better this way, but he can't help but feel ashamed by his cowardice anyway. What if he could help Jack as well? He'd just have to show that he's willing to—

“Alright, that sounds promising. Follow up on that and keep me updated.” Jack clicks his tongue, making a shooing motion with both hands. “Now scram.”

The black things fall down from the desk, dissolving on the floor before taking shape again and slinking towards a crack next to the door. Despite the wariness, Rhys watches them safely out of the corner of his eyes, until Jack sighs loudly, moving around the desk and sitting down on the armless chair behind it.

He looks at Rhys expectantly, and Rhys musters up enough courage to ask, “What is it they do?”

Jack steeples his hands in front of his face, one eyebrow raised.

Rhys can feel his face heat up again, and he bites his bottom lip. How naive of him to think that Jack would want him to know about his dealings. How staggeringly _arrogant_ of him to think that there could be anything Jack would possibly need his help for—

The chair glides softly over the wooden floor when Jack pushes it away from the desk, and the padded backrest meets the window behind it with a dull, soft thud. Jack hums, patting his upper legs with one hand, the other curled, beckoning Rhys closer.

His feet move without even awaiting his input, and Rhys is sure the rest of his blood has now successfully migrated up to his cheeks as well. He stops in front of Jack, his fingers tightly fisted into his trousers, staring at Jack's throat.

Jack chuckles, meaningfully patting his lap again. “Come one now, cupcake. No reason to be shy.”

Inhaling deeply, Rhys slips out of his shoes before leaning forward and haltingly folding his fingers over Jack's shoulder. When Jack only hums encouragingly, hands falling away to the side, Rhys stumbles forward, sliding his legs apart and spreading them out on either side of Jack. 

“There you go,” Jack says, voice deep and full of approval. His hands grip Rhys' ass then, pressing him forward and fully up against Jack.

Rhys gasps, fingers flexing into the material of Jack's dress shirt, afraid his blood will now rush below his stomach and embarrass him even further.

Jack's hands wander up and down Rhys' upper legs, lazily watching the movement. “Here's the thing, Rhysie. That book that used to mean so much to you?” His thumbs dig into Rhys' thighs, making him twitch, and Jack grins up at him, slow and teasing. “It's utter garbage.”

A sound of protest escapes Rhys' lips, an ingrained reaction he seems unable to get rid of.

The thumbs begin to draw circles on the inside of his legs, close enough to his obviously dented crotch to make Rhys' skin itch and his heartbeat quicken.

“Some passages make me wonder if they were even trying to get it right or if they were just making shit up on the fly,” Jack continues leisurely, obviously unperturbed by Rhys' reaction. His hands come to a stop, fingers now simply laying spread out on Rhys' clothed hips.

Rhys swallows, unable to look away from Jack's eyes. “How do you mean?”

Jack's lips curl up even further. “I'm so glad that you asked.” He pats Rhys' hip almost patronisingly before leaning back slightly, making the backrest creak. “Apart from the obvious: Two sides of the same coin, no light without shadow, and all that...” He sighs, frowning. ”The very sad fact is, all things considered? Those stuck up angels have killed more of you than my ilk and me ever could hope to surpass, even given another couple of millennia.”

“Really?” Rhys asks in a small voice, a shudder crawling down his back.

Jack's scowl deepens. “Cities levelled for the mistakes of a handful of people, civilisations eradicated because they dared to reach higher than they were supposed to... not to mention the one time _somebody_ threw a tantrum and ended up pressing the reset button on the entire world.”

Rhys' eyes widen, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He's pretty sure he knows which stories Jack is referring to, but he's never thought about them like this. He feels chilled to the bone.

Jack slaps his hip, growls, “It's not that impressive, okay? They just follow whatever orders are thrown their way. We, on the other hand, have a purpose. A _calling_.” The smile returns to his mouth, and his eyes seem to gleam with pride.

Rhys leans forward, hanging on to Jack's every word. He almost can't believe that Jack is willing to share all this information with him, inducting him into the real working of the world. He was truly lucky when Jack set his eyes on him, choosing him above everyone else. “What is your purpose, Jack?” he asks in a small voice bordering on reverent.

Chuckling, Jack trails one hand down Rhys' arm before closing his fingers around Rhys' bare wrist, almost making him lose his balance. Jack's other arm curls around his right side, steadying him without a comment. “I punish the bad guys, sweetheart,” he whispers against Rhys' mouth, and Rhys feels his eyelids droop in anticipation, “I make sure they end up right where they belong.”

He considers pressing his mouth against Jack's, just taking what is being offered, but... he has always been more curious than it was good for him, and so he breathes out, “How?”

“You really are a piece of work, kiddo.” Jack leans back and shakes his head, seemingly more amused than peeved by Rhys' never ending questions. “The shadows you can now see as well — thanks to my infinite generosity — are lesser demons, coming right from the lowest rung of the ladder.” Jack's thumb caresses the thin skin over his pulse point, and Rhys' toes curl in the empty air. “They are my eyes and ears, able to go everywhere, seeing and hearing everything there is take notice of in this pitiful part of the world.”

Jack hums, as if Rhys asked another question. “I'm a damn hero, that's what I am.”

Rhys nods eagerly, in awe of Jack's ability to direct the countless number of shadows he has already seen around. No wonder Jack is always so busy, probably harried by the amount of work he has to deal with.

 _Something_ nudges at the back of his head, a vague thought he can't quite grasp yet, leaving him uneasy all the same. He strokes over Jack's dress shirt, willing the unsettling feeling away. “You collect useful information, I understood that. But what do you do with it?”

Jack's grin widens, revealing a glimpse of teeth. “Oh, my sweet, innocent, little Rhysie,” he coos, both of his hands now settled low on Rhys' hips. “I collect all of these dirty and shameful secrets, and then it's just a matter of getting the right words to the, well.” He laughs. “Wrong person.”

It's Jack's almost gloating expression more than anything else that triggers the memory, and Rhys freezes, Jack's nearly forgotten words echoing inside of his head. _How else do you think Henderson learned about your... restless nights._

No, Jack wouldn't just say that without being completely sure. He wouldn't try to drive a wedge between Rhys and his friends. Jack wouldn't do that to him, Rhys isn't... he isn't a bad person. He doesn't need to be punished. And Jack has no reason to lie to him, because there's nothing he could possibly gain from it.

Rhys inhales deeply, trying to relax, not wanting for Jack to get upset by Rhys' stupid, _unfounded_ mood swings. Vaughn and Yvette probably told Henderson because they thought he would be able to help Rhys. A well-meant action that turned out to be mistake, costing Rhys dearly. He has forgiven them — mostly. It's over and done with. 

Jack, oblivious to Rhys' discomfort, continues, absently tucking Rhys' shirt out of his trousers, “Honestly, sometimes it's almost too easy. You wouldn't believe the stuff going on behind closed and supposedly holy door. Sanctimonious pricks, the entire lot of them.” Jack chuckles, an ugly sound that makes Rhys bite his tongue. “It's always weirdly satisfying to see them fall on their swords of righteousness.”

Vasquez, trying to take his own life. The Sister who left in a frenzy.

Henderson, destroying the arm Jack left scratches on only days before, somehow convinced Rhys was possessed and that he was doing God's work.

With the clarity of deeply repressed memories, Rhys is suddenly back in the dingy room, strapped down and afraid.

There were no windows, no breeze.

And on the walls, the shadows flickered wildly.

“Your demons were there,” Rhys whispers, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “You _knew_.”

Jack stops undressing him, looking up slowly, his eyes cold, expression blank.

Desperate to get the rest out before the flicker of courage inside of him dies down completely, Rhys adds in a whisper, “You made Henderson attack me.”

Jack stares at him, emotionless and chilling, his palms coming to rest on Rhys' hips. Then he closes his eyes, sighing loudly. “Why do I always have to pick the ones with looks _and_ brain?”

It's a far cry from the assurance Rhys was looking for, and Rhys feels his stomach turn, his entire body beginning to shake.

“I had it all planned out so well. A couple of concerned words to Henderson about what I 'overheard', and then that oaf does _nothing_ with it for two entire days!” He opens his eyes again, settling his gaze back on Rhys, looking annoyed. “You understand of course that I couldn't stay, I had places to be, work to do.”

He can't listen to this, can't stand to have those hands touching him any longer, he has to run, run and never stop running—

“Rhysie, _stay_ ,” Jack hisses, eyes blazing, and Rhys can feel his muscles, his entire body just freeze, not under his own control anymore.

Jack pats his hip, making Rhys want to _scream_. “Good boy. So, where was I?”

Rhys' heart is beating so wildly inside of his chest, he's sure it will simply burst out of it any second now, delivering him from this nightmare he willingly entered.

“Right, I was needed elsewhere. But I left specific instructions to my underlings to look after you, and to get me in case...” The corners of Jack's mouth curl upwards again, and he chuckles. “...in case things got 'out of hand'. You have to admit, that's kind of funny in retrospect.”

How could he have been so _stupid_ to ever trust a single word out of Jack's mouth. He thinks of Vaughn and Yvette, and how willingly he believed they would go behind his back and lie to him. He never even thought to question Jack's words. Rhys knows he's crying now, large, wet drops, without any hope to stop them.

Jack frowns, muttering, “Fine, not funny then.” His hands begin to draw circles on Rhys' hips once more, as if trying to _soothe_ him.

Rhys feels himself flinch violently, even though his body is unable to realise the movement, and he closes his eyes, unable to look at Jack's face any longer.

God didn't abandon him after all. God knew that Rhys was a lost cause, tainted probably well before Jack ever laid his hands on him.

“The problem is they are actually really bad at thinking for themselves when not given concrete parameters. I probably should have thought about that before leaving, but, well...” Jack stops speaking, but Rhys only presses his eyes shut more tightly, hiccuping a sob. “... hindsight and all that.”

He should have died on that slab of stone. He deserves nothing less for being so blind.

“Aw, come on, Rhysie,” Jack says — almost _whining_ now — his thumbs wandering underneath Rhys' shirt and touching his skin, making Rhys wish he could tear it right off his body. “It was a good plan. Let Henderson rough you up a bit, only to sweep in in just the right moment as your knight in, well, I guess slightly blemished armour, and _boom_.” He pats Rhys' hips again. “Instant devotion! It would have been awesome.”

Rhys swallows down another sob, desperately hoping he'll choke on it. But maybe... maybe there's still a way for him to get out of this, to return into God's benevolent arms. He let Jack touch him, yes, but he hasn't given him everything yet. There must still be a part of him left untainted, something worthy of salvation— 

His stomach turns when he remembers that he has a part of Jack permanently inside of him already, and he strains against the invisible powers holding him, wanting to claw the eye out with his remaining hand, cleansing himself of the taint— Maybe the rot from it hasn't already spread too far inside of him—

Jack clucks his tongue, hands wandering up Rhys' sides and onto his back, pressing his unresisting body against Jack's chest. “What do you want from me, pumpkin?” he purrs against Rhys' ear, and Rhys bites his tongue, wanting to howl out his misery and never stop again. “Do you want me to apologise? I mean, sure, it wasn't even my fault if we look at it objectively. Henderson went just completely bonkers, and my underlings thought you were doing fine as long as your heart was still beating, but I'll give you an apology if you want one.”

Rhys grits his teeth until his jaw aches, feeling like he'll have to heave with how close he is to Jack, his nose almost in Jack's hair. It's truly sickening how easily Jack can switch tracks. Now that Rhys isn't blinded by his own naivety any longer, it's painfully obvious that Jack is talking with a twisted tongue, nothing but his own interests behind his words. 

“Alright, apparently you don't want an apology,” Jack says tersely. One of his hands grips Rhys' neck roughly, and Rhys gasps, almost wishing— The hand pulls his head back, forceful enough to make Rhys' blurry eyes snap open again.

“Look, sweetheart, you've got to work with me here,” Jack says slowly, but there's an undertone to his voice, simmering anger. “We've got something really special going on here, haven't we?” Jack's fingernails drag down his back slowly, his voice as beseeching as it's probably ever going to get, “Don't throw that away just because of a bumpy start.”

He's almost dizzy with the helplessness of being trapped inside of his own body, and with the disgust rolling in his stomach, so strong it's surely going to make him sick any second now.

Jack's eyes begin to glow again, his voice like poisoned honey. “You and me, Rhys. I know we are going to be amazing together, you just haver to stop being such a resentful idiot.”

Rhys is grateful when rage finally seeps into his bones, overwhelming every other feeling. He spits in Jack's face, hitting his cheek, and Rhys' lips curl into a small, ugly smile, his voice gratifyingly even. “Go to hell, Jack.”

The fingers on Rhys' neck spasm, and Jack's left eye twitches, and Rhys is sure that this is it, now Jack will snap his neck— 

Laughter bubbles out of Jack's chest, quiet at first but quickly gaining volume until it fills the entire room, until it's all Rhys can hear. Jack wipes the spit from his cheek with the back of his right hand, and then the hand moves up to Rhys' faces.

Rhys stops breathing and swallows, unnerved and now truly terrified. A fingernail digs into his temple, hard enough to sting and Rhys' twitches, unable to do more than stare at Jack with wide eyes.

“You don't even know how fucking lucky you are, Rhysie,” Jack says quietly, and the pain at Rhys' temple seems to spread over to his damned eye, making him gasp. “If you weren't still the most interesting thing around in this wasteland, I'd slowly tear you to pieces right now and keep you alive through every agonising, bloody second of it.”

Trembling, Rhys bites his tongue, almost considering daring Jack to do exactly that.

“But you know what? I forgive you your awful behaviour and ungratefulness,” Jack says evenly. 

The pain intensifies, and the cursed eye almost feels like it is burning now, tearing a high-pitched gasp out of Rhys' throat. 

“I told you everything about my work and my greatness, but you never connected the dots.”

The nail digs even deeper into the skin at his temple, and Rhys can feel Jack's words settle right into his mind, cloying and final.

“And now you are going to sleep for a bit so we can both calm down or I'll probably end up doing something that you are _really_ going to regret.”

Rhys inhales deeply, his body relaxing and his mind giving in to sleep.

The last thing he sees is Jack's left eye, glowing an unholy, all consuming red.

* * *

“And then he told my numbers were wrong — which they weren't — right in front of everyone, and—“

Rhys makes a sound of indignation in the back of his throat, nodding along to Vaughn's story, wondering if maybe he should have chosen another shirt to wear after all. What if he's overdressed for his meeting with Jack? What if Jack wanted for Rhys to wear his robes? 

Rhys frowns, looking down at himself. Jack would have said if he had something specific in mind, right? Biting his bottom lip, Rhys wonders what Vaughn would think if he turned around now and went back to his quarters to change.

Vaughn pokes him in the side, startling Rhys badly enough to make him almost stumble. “I would ask if you were listening to me, but it's kinda painfully obvious that you weren't,” Vaughn grumbles, arms crossed in front of his chest and staring ahead.

“Sorry, I'm just...” He laughs, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “...really nervous.”

They turn the next corner, and Vaughn sniffs, looking back at him. Then he waves Rhys' apology away with the simple wave of a hand. “Already forgotten, bro.” He doesn't seem to expect an answer, letting their one-sided conversation fall away into almost comfortable silence.

Rhys smiles, poking Vaughn back. “Thanks... bro.”

Vaughn's gaze snaps back to him immediately, surprised but pleased. “Man, you haven't said that in forever!” There's a spring in his steps now, a wide smile on his face.

Rhys nods, feeling bad for having taken the word out of his vocabulary for so long, simply because Henderson and the others insisted it was 'unbecoming' of somebody wanting to reach a higher station. With Vaughn looking at him as if he just hung sun and moon for him, Rhys vows to himself to say it daily form now on, like he did when they were still kids.

“So, Father John,” Vaughn says, suddenly serious again. “Didn't see him around a whole lot until recently, and now he always seems to be wherever you just happen to be as well. Kinda funny, isn't it?”

Staring intently ahead Rhys' laughs, hoping it doesn't sound too forced. “I think he's just being considerate.”

Vaughn hums, stroking his chin. “I heard he's moving up the ladder fairly quickly, proposing changes left and right.” He looks at Rhys out of the corner of his eyes, voice quiet. “If he's not just trying to gain bonus points by using what happened to you, it'd be nice if you found another mentor.”

Rhys swallows, wondering how close to reality Vaughn is with his assumption or if it's just Rhys' wishful thinking. Jack, his mentor. All the knowledge and experience Jack must have, and Rhys directly benefiting from it. It almost sounds too good to ever become true. He nods, not trusting himself to say anything in answer.

“I think it would be good for you if you found somebody else to trust in after...” Vaughn coughs into his fist, hesitating. “After Henderson.”

 _I thought I could trust you and Yvette when I confided my problems to you two_. Rhys bites his bottom lip. He tries to get rid of the thought quickly again, assuring himself that he's over it, that it doesn't still make his heart ache. He makes a small noise of confirmation, this time not caring if the ensuing silence is awkward.

They should be fairly close to Jack's quarters now, and while Rhys appreciates Vaughn coming along under the guise of curiosity, he'd really like to be alone now. Rhys tucks at the bottom of his shirt again, now convinced he shouldn't have worn his favourite shirt after all.

Vaughn sighs. “Need a hand?”

Rhys is already shaking his head, mouth opened to decline Vaughn's offer when Vaughn suddenly sucks in a sharp breath, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Rhys turns around to Vaughn, a question already on his lips.

Vaughn is looking at him with wide eyes, abject horror in every line of his expression. “ _Ohmygod_ , I can't believe I just said that to you.” His words almost tumble over themselves, and he covers his face with his hands quickly.

It honestly takes Rhys an embarrassing long moment to understand Vaughn's mortified reaction, and then it finally clicks. It's a warm giggle at first that bubbles up in his throat, but it quickly becomes a full-belly laugh, startling even himself with its intensity.

Vaughn hesitantly takes his hands away from his face, looking a bit confused but mostly still terrified, and Rhys almost doubles over right then and there, arm curled around his shaking stomach.

It doesn't take very long for Vaughn to join him, though he seems to try to resist it at first.

Thankfully, this corner of the monastery is fairly deserted or the two of them would have some explaining to do.

When he finally has the air again, Rhys says, “I am so going to tell Yvette about this.”

Vaughn wipes at his eyes, equally breathless. “Please don't, she'll never let me hear the end of it.”

Rhys nods earnestly, trying to look stern. “Good, that's nothing less than you deserve for making such a—” He swallows another giggle. “ _Short_ sighted comment.”

“Really?” Vaughn whines. “A dig at my height? I thought you grew tired of those when we were what, twelve?”

Rhys starts walking again, grinning from ear to ear, despite everything that happened to him feeling better than he has in weeks. “You're right, it's about time they had a revival.”

Another pained groan follows him, and Rhys chuckles. He's looking good, and more than ready to finally meet with Jack in private. Rhys smiles softly to himself.

Things are finally looking up again.


End file.
